Never Grow Up
by Kermodei
Summary: I and Hena unluckyrabbitsfoot. went through my Wincest Playlist, and used the first line from each song as a prompt, Sam and Dean are inbetween hunts on Dean's 14th, and this is where they start the tradition of looking at the stars together


**Never Grow Up **

_A/N: First Prompt from my Wincest Playlist_

"_**You're Little Hand's Wrapped Around My Finger And It's So Quiet In The World Tonight"**_

Dean usually spends his birthdays on a hunt. Staking out a vamps nest, or getting the flamethrowers ready for a Wendigo. It isn't an unusual thing to him, ending a life to celebrate another year of his own, and on most birthdays, he wouldn't complain. He was spending one on one time with his father, Sam sitting back at the motel, probably absorbed in one of his flimsy books, and he was saving people. Being a hero. He liked the idea.

But this year was different. This year, when Dean turned fourteen, they were in between hunts, on the road, still sleeping in the back of the Impala, on an asphalt highway in limbo between small towns and crap motels. They were playing the waiting game that all hunters did at one point in their life.

It wasn't too hard to pass the time these days, teaching Sammy to play poker turned out to be quite the endeavour in and of its self, but Dean didn't much like the days between hunts, overall. It gave the family time to think, and that was the opposite of what they needed. When dad thought, he'd pull into those one night camper sites, and run to the nearest bar. When Sam thought, even at only nine years old, he would curl himself into a tiny ball and fall into silence. When Dean thought, well, Dean preferred not to think about much.

Dad had gotten him nothing for the occasion, which wasn't unusual, unless it was something the entire family could use, like fresh ammo, and Sammy had managed to save up and get him one of those fancy, glow-in-the-dark twenty-four hour watches, beaming as Dean unwrapped the newspaper and cast a smile at his brother.

"Sammy, this is great. Thanks so much." He'd strapped it on his wrist then and there, and was wearing it still, in the darkened back seat of the Impala, the moonlight filtering through the windows and Sam half-awake and starring out at nothingness beside him.

The stars above were clearer on nights between towns, no light pollution to dim them, and Dean would never admit it, cause it sounded so damn girly, but he thought they looked nice, especially with those pine trees silhouetted by them. It looked sort of magical, and not in a way he felt he needed to salt and burn. He turned and nudged his younger brother.

"Hey, Sammy, wake up." The younger boy turned, bangs obscuring his vision, and glanced at his brother.

"Am awake." He mumbled. Dean smiled.

"Wanna see something cool?" Sam nodded, and followed Dean as he unlocked the car door. The boys feet crunched across the gravel of the car park, and a small thud on metal could be heard as each boy mounted the hood of the car. Sam stared up at the moon, entranced, and Dean stared at Sam.

"Do you know any constellations?" Dean asked Sam. The smaller boy nodded, but, unusually, didn't continue to list and point out any. Something was on his mind, and Dean wasn't sure what it was, but he wanted to distract him. "Well, I don't, but mom used to show me something when I was really little. See that star right up there? The bright one, sort of over to the left?" Sam nodded his head absently. "That's grandma." Sam cast a quizzical look.

"Grandma was a person. Not a star." Dean smiled.

"I know, but mom used to say that souls of good people would go up into the sky and become stars. Big burning balls of energy, up there to let everyone know they're not alone." Sam frowned.

"Stars are made of gas."

"Scientifically, sure." Dean replied, pointing out another one, "But _I_ think that the stars seem alive, don't you?" Sam was silent for a moment, starring up into the abyss of the night sky.

"Sorta." He pointed up to another one. "Is that one Granddad Winchester?" He said. Dean directed his view in the direction his brother was pointing. The star was almost flickering, as if it wasn't sure what to do.

"Why would you think that?"

"He just seems really confused, that's all." Dean laughed, and wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulder.

"Yeah, maybe."

They sat in silence for a while longer, starring into the sky, and sharing the not un-comforting feeling that someone was starring back.

"Do you think mom's up there?" Sam asked after a minute.

"Course." Dean replied, not missing a beat.

"I bet her star is pretty bright."

"It is, trust me. And I bet you it's always right above us, keeping an eye on us and dad." Sam nodded, and mumbled something in agreement.

"Like you do, right?" Dean was silent for a moment. He wasn't sure what to say. He never thought of himself as the caretaker of the family. Cleaning up after dad's drunken messes, helping Sammy with homework, getting him through nightmares, that had all been his responsibilities, things that he did that were second nature and just not questioned. But now Sam was suggesting something completely different.

"What do you mean?" He turned to face his little brother a bit more.

"You help me when I'm scared, help Dad when he's angry, you make sure we don't get hurt. You keep an eye on us." Dean thought about it for a moment, then decided it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"You know what? You're right. I look out for you, Sammy. I always will, remember that, okay? Even when I die, I promise, I'll be the star that's always right over your head." Dean waited for Sam's reaction, and was shocked when it came. Instead of smiling relief or even a shrug of half-confidence, like he'd expected, Sam began to cry. Dean pulled him closer with his one arm. Sam grabbed his index finger with his fist and held on tightly, as if his soul might shatter if he let go.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong, Sammy?" But the small child could speak through his sobs, so Dean just held him close, and rocked him slightly, wishing to God that the stars could talk so he could ask his mother what to do.

When Sam's breathing finally became normal, he managed to whisper a few words.

"I don't want you to die, Dean. Please don't die." Dean sighed and tucked the child's head under his chin.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. I promise."

When John Winchester returned to the car park, he found the Impala's doors unlocked. He cursed, Dean had forgotten to lock them again, he'd have to have a talk with that kid when he sobered up. But his attitude changed when he glanced in the back seat of his car.

Dean was propped up against the far left corner of the seat, head lolling to one side and leaning on the window, and Sammy, tear stains dry on his cheeks, was curled up in Dean's lap, head topped by Dean's hand. They looked like they needed the rest. Maybe that talk could wait for later.

The ragged man looked up at the stars.

"Mary, if you could see them now…"


End file.
